


Gifts

by cosmic_llin



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22418287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_llin/pseuds/cosmic_llin
Summary: Seven doesn't celebrate her birthday, so Tom, B'Elanna and Harry find other ways to celebrate with her.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris/Seven of Nine/B'Elanna Torres
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27
Collections: Trek Rarepair Swap - Round 31





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for captain-harry-kim in the Trek Rarepair Swap.

Seven doesn’t celebrate her birthday. 

She doesn’t remember ever being on Earth - why would she mark time by its revolutions around its star? It’s meaningless. She prefers stardates anyway. They’re clearer, more efficient.

‘A summer birthday, that’s nice,’ she remembers the captain saying to her once.

Summer where? She’s never lived anywhere that had seasons. For most of her life, time passed in regeneration cycles, and she neither knew nor cared about what was next. On Voyager she counts the days from her arrival - more and more and more of them - or the days since she realised that she didn’t want to rejoin the Borg any more, or days since she got her own quarters.

She counts days since Tom and Harry and B’Elanna invited her to share in what they had.

They had trouble at first, with her birthday. B’Elanna understood almost immediately, and Tom once it was explained. Harry struggled most. He loves his birthday, loves to be feted and indulged. He wanted Seven to be able to have that too, wanted to shower her with gifts and attention.

‘I don’t object to receiving gifts,’ she explained. ‘I merely… don’t regard the anniversary of my birth as significant.’

Instead, then, they give her gifts at other times, whenever the mood takes them.

* * *

Tom makes her a holodeck program. ‘Just because,’ he says.

He knows she doesn’t get on particularly well with narrative programs - stories are something she’s still learning about, and she prefers to consume them in ways that aren’t so immediate - so he makes her a detailed recreation of a walk he and she took together, back when things were still very new between them.

They’d been on shore leave, and she hadn’t seen the point of it. She still doesn’t understand this craving other members of the crew claim to have for blue skies, grass under their feet. She feels safe on a ship, knowing she’s enclosed on all sides, knowing the parameters of her world. But that day she let Tom persuade her, and they walked up a hill on a warm, bright day, and it was… enjoyable.

Part of it, of course, was their new way of being together, the way Tom took her hand when the path was uneven, the way he patted her shoulder when they reached the viewpoint, the way he put a hand to her cheek and kissed her softly in the sunlight.

In the holodeck, he watches her reaction.

‘You’ve precisely duplicated this location,’ she says, pleased.

He smiles. ‘I knew you’d like it,’ he says.

He’s always been able to read her. They start to walk, and she notes aloud the things she sees, the details that make the recreation perfect. Tom seems delighted that she has noticed all the work he put in.

They reach the viewpoint again, and he pats her shoulder like he did then, kisses her softly just the same. 

This time is even better than the first.

* * *

B’Elanna takes her on a date, to celebrate the day they finish a particularly tough repair to the propulsion systems.

‘Just you and me this time,’ she says, grinning. ‘Tom and Harry have their own plans.’

Seven has learned to appreciate that look of unguarded happiness on B’Elanna’s face, and lately she sees it more and more. She calculates that B’Elanna now grins 45 per cent more per week than she did six months ago.

She leads Seven to the shuttlebay, and when Seven tries to follow her into the standard shuttle she aims for, B’Elanna shakes her head.

‘No, that one’s yours,’ she says, pointing at the adjacent shuttle. ‘This one’s mine. We’re racing.’

Seven’s heart rate increases. She shouldn’t have a competitive side - the good of the collective is the most important thing - but she has one nevertheless. A trait from her imperfect human origins, surely, and B’Elanna knows just how to bring it out. And when she does, Seven has to admit that she likes it.

Voyager’s stationary right now, while they investigate a nearby nebula. Somehow, without Seven noticing, B’Elanna has managed to set up a race course, with its borders marked with buoys, and obstacles in the way of success. They fly their shuttles to the start line, and B’Elanna instructs Seven over the comm.

‘Fastest around the course wins,’ she says. ‘No going outside the marked area. No physical contact between the shuttles. Otherwise, there are no rules. May the best woman win.’

A countdown begins, and Seven grips the controls, breathing a little fast. And then they’re darting forward, and it’s too close to call, B’Elanna matching her every swoop and turn, the stars rushing past, the controls solid under her hands, and she can’t focus on anything but winning.

And then B’Elanna cuts a tight corner, and pulls ahead, and Seven hears her laughter over the comm, and suddenly her focus is gone, she’s picturing the way B’Elanna looks in the half-light in just her undershirt —but no, this is precisely what B’Elanna wants, to distract her. She drags her focus back to the race, ignores B’Elanna’s taunting voice, and swoops beneath an obstacle to slide into the lead. B’Elanna swears.

They spend the whole race that way - vying for the lead, too close to call until the last moment when the nose of B’Elanna’s shuttle crosses the finish line a fraction of a second before Seven’s.

Seven lets out an uncharacteristic growl of frustration, and over the comm B’Elanna makes an approving noise. A second later Seven hears the hum of the transporter, and there’s B’Elanna, breathing hard, her hair a little messy.

‘I’ll make it up to you?’ she suggests.

‘Yes,’ says Seven, sternly. ‘You will.’

* * *

Harry gives her a cake.

It’s only when she arrives at his quarters one evening as requested and sees them all gathered around it that she puts the pieces together and realises that Harry hasn’t used a single replicator ration in weeks.

She remembers him frowning over Neelix’s meals, but eating them regardless instead of getting something more to his taste. Remembers that he hasn’t been snacking much lately. It makes her feel… something she can’t quite pinpoint, to know that he has sacrificed his own comfort to add to hers.

She makes a mental note to use some of her own rations to make some of his favourites.

‘Happy Wednesday!’ Harry says, and Tom and B’Elanna cheer.

Seven’s lips quirk up. He’s remembered that she likes strawberries, and the cake is liberally decorated with them.

‘Do you like it?’ he asks, as she examines the cake.

‘It’s aesthetically appealing,’ she says. ‘But I don’t believe I can answer your question until we have tasted it.’

Harry cuts them each a slice, making sure that Seven has the one with the biggest strawberry on it. She takes a bite. It’s light, fresh, delicately flavoured.

‘This is an excellent cake,’ she tells Harry, and he grins broadly.

‘It’s delicious, Harry,’ says Tom, kissing his temple.

‘Thank you,’ Seven says. ‘I’m very grateful.’

For her this is effusive, and Harry knows it. He sits beside her to eat his slice, close enough that they’re touching. Tom and B’Elanna join them after a minute, and Seven is surrounded on all sides by people who love her, people who understand her.

When she’s eaten her cake, she slides her hand along Harry’s thigh, and enjoys the way his skin flushes.

‘I called in a couple of favours,’ says Tom. ‘None of us has an early start tomorrow.’

Seven turns to kiss Harry, enjoying the knowledge that Tom and B’Elanna’s eyes are on them. 

Maybe in the future she’ll count from this day, too.


End file.
